


Song of the City

by grandiosForjury



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Detective Noir, F/F, Gen, Mystery, Other, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandiosForjury/pseuds/grandiosForjury
Summary: what if i was a detective and was really bad at my job. there are also lots of women





	1. Prologue

“What do you think, detective?”

You tilt your head and review your notes. Something about this case just doesn’t add up. But the cops are waiting, and your paycheck is in sight.

“Suicide,” you say.

The officer ran up to her superiors and told them of your verdict. They gave you a thumbs up and a check, and motioned to dismiss you.

You quickly leave the crime scene – a fancy hotel room at the top of a skyscraper. While you ride the elevator down, you look out the window, moon absent and reflection barely visible, and watch yourself descend. The city below approaches you, reaching out, like a child waiting for its mother, or a world of chaos awaiting the return of its god. However, your head remains empty; only nausea and anticipation exists in you. And perhaps a tinge of unease as well. But you brush it off. Tonight is not a night for you to riddle yourself with work-related puzzles. Tonight is not a night for you to be a detective. Because tonight, you are a judge. Tonight, you are justice.

The elevator sounds a pleasant  _ ding _ and you come out the same way you came in – alone. Your footsteps echo loudly in the now abandoned lobby. When you approach the exit, a quiet whir comes out through the door’s mechanisms, and you are greeted by what one can only call the song of the city. Murmurs, footsteps, beeping, and sirens – the song of the city welcomes you back in its dirty, cold embrace.


	2. Chapter 1: Justice

After waiting around for what seemed like a minute or two, you decide it’s time to walk. You forgot that Friday nights imply busier streets, and an even busier taxi system, so you don’t bet on it. You think it might be refreshing to walk to your destination. Not that you still don’t walk enough for your everyday leg day life, but you don’t frequent this part of town, and it has been a while since you have been here to enjoy yourself.

You pass by a few buildings before you start sweating like crazy. That’s weird, you think. But you suppose it could just be anxiety. The person you are about to meet has the highest hopes for this evening, and you feel like you’ve shattered those hopes. Funny how you feel so guilty about it. You try to remember what they look like, and how it felt before everything went wrong. The warm radiance of their smile turns bitter and cold like the back of your neck – wow it’s so cold. Unbelievably cold. You look around; it doesn’t seem like the people around you are feeling the same. You clench your coat as your body begins to shake. You stiffen, and you fall to the ground.

What’s happening, you try to ask yourself. Who’s there, you try to yell. But nothing comes out of your mouth, only grinding teeth and cold sweat that rolls from the top of your head to the tip of your lips. Your body lays stiff on the ground, head feeling numb. But before all of your senses are completely taken away, you feel someone grab you by the waist, hoisting you up, and dropping you on what feels like the trunk of a car with a loud  _ thud _ . The lights disappear, and so does your mind.

You have been kidnapped, and maybe you are going to die.

***

_ Dear Elle, _

_ My sweet, summer lover, please forgive my haste. But there is something I need to tell you. A warning, for you and for those whom you hold dear. The envelope I hold with me contains evidence of your crime. I know it was you who did it. And I know what I must do to bring forth justice. Run now, my beloved, so that you may escape the reaches of my fury. Take our pictures, burn them if you will. Take the dog and take your family, or I might take them out myself. You will pay for your transgressions in every way that is fit and just, in every way that you may suffer for your sins, and in every way that I might be the one to dictate your verdict. _

_ Best of luck to you. _

_ Love, _

_ *** _

Sounds from around you begin to register in your mind. Your dream is interrupted. You hear… glasses clinking. People shouting. Swing?

“Hey there, detective,” an unfamiliar voice whispers in your ear. “It’s time to wake up.”

You jolt and accidentally slap your captor. She lets out a grimace, but hesitates to fight you. You realize that you are seated in what appears to be a retro bar. You have never been here before.

You check your body, your hands, your legs – all free. No shackles, no paralysis, and best of all, no amputations. You are safe, you think.

“Yes, don’t worry, you’re perfectly fine,” the woman says. “You didn’t drink a lot of that punch, lucky you. Otherwise you would have been asleep for days.”

“How long was I out?” you mumble. You notice that the two of you are alone at your table. It appears that your captor, whoever she is, plans to let you go.

“Twelve hours,” she says as she pours you a drink.

“Twelve hours…” it takes a while for the thought to register. Oh my god, you sigh. You missed your very important appointment.

“Have we interrupted any of your plans?” she says, handing you a drink. You refuse, and she takes the glass back with a giggle. “Of course. You wouldn’t want to get drugged again. You  _ are _ a smart detective.”

You doubt that statement, but it’s good that your enemy (you’ve branded these people as your enemies for now) thinks of you highly enough to casually compliment you. And it’s even better that this particular enemy has referred to her team as a “we.” Now you know that she isn’t the mastermind. Makes things more difficult, knowing that you are talking to only a dog, but at least that’s one question out of the way.

“Why did you abduct me?” you manage to say with better diction. “If it’s about the dead man from the hotel, you’ve wasted your energy. I already told the police it was suicide, and I have no plans of further sticking my nose up in the matter.”

The woman stays silent for a few moments. Uh oh, wrong move.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, detective. I was only told to ensure your safe return. And here you are, cozy and safe, unscathed and untouched, in a rather fancy place to wake up to. I did a pretty good job, unlike you apparently.”

You notice her eyes dart around the club as she takes a sip of her drink. That insult means nothing to you. She just exposed herself and her boss’s motives – or which isn’t one of their motives, to be precise.

“You got me,” you say, rubbing the back of your head. “But you should know, for future reference, that all your rough play isn’t necessary. I’m quite easy to talk to, as you can see.”

She smiles, apparently comfortable again.

“We should go out some time.”

You feel a wave of heat pass through your face. But no, you don’t have time for this. But you politely give her a smile, stand up, and extend your hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you miss, uh –“

“Mary,” she says, taking your hand. “You can just call me Mary.”

“I guess this means I have a pass to leave?”

She giggles and nods.

You make your way outside and are once again greeted by the song of the city. You have never been in this area before. This place is a bit upscale for your lifestyle. You hail a taxi and tell the driver your address. Boy, you have a lot to do.

Once you are seated comfortably, you suddenly remember to check your belongings. Phone, wallet, lotto ticket, all good. You check the cash in your wallet. It doesn’t look like anything was taken. Not that you remember exactly how much you had in the first place, but it’s good to check anyway.

You let out a sigh of relief and relax on your seat. You close your eyes for a bit to enjoy the soft cushions of this fancy taxi. The seats look clean and fresh, and intricate designs run by the hems of the covers. It even has some pillows and free gum.

And then it hits you.

You flip your coat and reach into the pocket. Fuck. There it is. The envelope containing the evidence against Elle. It’s gone.

You hastenly tell your driver to make a U-turn, to which she begrudgingly obliges to. Once you make it back to the retro bar, you bolt out of the taxi, leaving an angry driver polluting the fancy air with what the folks here would refer to as crass language. You try to get in the bar, but a bouncer stops you.

“Name?”

“I don’t have a reservation,” you quietly huff.

“Go back to your taxi and pay the poor fella. You can only go in here with a prior reservation or a VIP pass.”

“What is this, some kind of fancy restaurant?!”

“You trying to start beef with me, kid?”

As the bouncer raised their voice at you, two more of them come out to see the commotion. In a fit of desperation, you take your wallet and wave it around their face while forcing your way through. “Let me in, I’m a cop and I have business here.”

Before any of them could stop you, you make it past their reaches and immediately look for Mary. You look at the table you sat on, at the bar, and at the dance floor. She isn’t there. You rush to the bathroom. A queue of irritated women yell at you for cutting in line. You barge in and are greeted by stares. You continue to not mind as you call out her name. “Mary?” you say. “Are you in here? I have business with you.”

One of the girls looks at you quizzically, and just as she was about to speak, you say “No, a different Mary.” And she nods while mouthing an “Oh.”

You decide it’s time to check the stalls. You count.

One.  _ Knock knock. _

“Hey!”

Not her.

Two.  _ Knock knock. _

“Someone’s here.”

Nope.

Three.  _ Knock knock. _

“Occupied, asshole.”

You’re beginning to lose hope.

Four.  _ Knock knock _ .

Quiet.

_ Knock knock. _

“Bingo,” and you get ready to kick.

But just as you were about to do so, the door opens on its own, and out came an angry woman signing you to get the fuck out. You quickly oblige.

When you come out of the bathroom, you are greeted by three things: a still angry but now smirking queue of irritated women, three buff bouncers ready to pounce, and one hot, professional-looking woman. She’s sexy, but in a rat kind of way.

“Miss police officer,” the woman speaks. “May I please see your ID.”

“I’m not a ‘miss’,” you say defensively.

But it doesn’t look like the woman cares. She narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “ID. Now.”

You nervously show her your wallet with the ID you showed the bouncers earlier. Her face scrunches up.

“You pretend to be a cop, leave an angry sailor yelling outside my club, disrespect my bouncers, and upset my customers with your frivolous goosechase,” she says in a monotone but firm manner.

“I’m a private detective,” you scowl.

One of the girls sneers at you. You didn’t catch what she said, but you can make out the words “fuck” and “husband” as she “whispers” at her friend.

You hesitate to react. Then, you notice everyone else. The 30’s music might not have stopped from the moment you made a ruckus, but it’s clear that everyone’s attention is centered at you. Everyone is staring at you, including the staff, and you look back to the owner of the club.

It’s clear that you’ve lost. She throws your wallet at you, which you barely manage to catch. Her voice is assertive.

“Get out.”

And just like that, you are banned from an elite club you never got to enjoy for trespassing and harassment. 

You pay off the angry driver and walk away from the place. You have been thrown into hell and robbed of your justice, and you don’t know what to do.


End file.
